


Through a Rift in Time

by AyimilTaddy



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 08:10:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyimilTaddy/pseuds/AyimilTaddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The more he stared, the more he stopped noticing things. Almost like time was stopping for him and funneling it to one place. The apple." I know this been done before, but dammit, I want more smut. It will be Altair/Desmond, but there shall be Robert/Desmond. (Because I love it when pretty boys get a little roughed up)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Desmond stretched out after a long trip in the animus. It always annoyed him how tired he felt after a trip down memory lane. After all, he was just laying around for hours. At least that trip was over with. Any longer and he would have started believing Shaun about him being sleeping beauty.

The ex-bartender walked out of the room and into the kitchen where Lucy was fixing him a potpie. He took the food gratefully, finally realizing how hungry he was. He sat down and started eating as he watched Lucy make a fresh pot of coffee. Desmond inwardly groaned. "We're sending you back in when you're done eating." Lucy stated flatly. She stared at the coffee dripping into the pot. Desmond did not even bother to nod. "I know you don't like it, but we're so close. You know ho-"

"Lucy."

Sighing in annoyance, Lucy turned around to face the door and snapped, "What, Shaun?"

Shaun's frown deepened, he knew she was just tired, but bloody hell, so was he! Letting it go Shaun stated, "Becky broke Baby. I don't know what she did but she's smoking like hell."

"Shit!" Lucy shoved past Shaun to see what was happening with the animus. Uncharacteristically, Shaun just shrugged it off and followed after her. Not even sending a sarcastic look to Desmond. Whom of which almost chocked on his food with the weirdness of the situation. 'Damn! Everyone must be exhausted.'

Slowly finishing his potpie, Desmond threw the paper into the trash and the fork into the sink. He walked back into the room with baby to see how things were going. Sadly, they were not going good. Shaun was not joking when he said baby was smoking. Thick billows of it came from the head of the machine almost like the smoke signals that native Americans did. There was no way he was going back in tonight. As he watched, Rebecca, with the help of Lucy got the smoking to stop. "Sonnovabitch!" Slipped from Rebecca's mouth as she looked at her Baby. Lucy grabbed her arm and pulled her upright. Glancing around she spotted Desmond. "We're going to go get the supplies needed to fix this. Shaun's coming too, so don't do anything stupid." As she spoke she was gathering her things to leave, motioning for Rebecca and Shaun to do the same. "It'll be a few hours, so try to get some exercise and a shower." Desmond nodded with a smirk. "Yes, mother."

Lucy huffed as she ushered Shaun and Rebecca outside, both of whom looked just a teeny bit irritated. Before the door fully closed Desmond heard Shaun say, "I don't think it's a good idea to leave him alone again. You remember what happened last time? The Templars almo-" and then the door shut fully. Desmond grimaced, remembering the exact time Shaun was talking about. He did not need a reminder of that mistake.

To take his mind off the situation and do just what Lucy said, Desmond started jogging laps around the animus room. It was a fairly large room to begin with. When it was just him, it felt gigantic. After doing five laps, he increased his speed. Continuously after five laps, he would go a little faster, and a little faster until he was pretty much running at break-neck speed. He felt like he was taking his frustrations out with his feet every time he stepped down. Only after about 2 hours of a mix of jogging and running did Desmond finally stop.

Gasping and holding onto his legs he worked to catch his breath. He felt out of shape, annoyed, angry and most of all, useless. They always left him with the animus, always told him not to do anything stupid. He knew they needed his genetic memory and that was why they needed him in a safe area, but damn! He was 25 years old! He could take care of himself. After taking a deep breath to calm himself he stood up straight. He knew they meant well. It was just their situation.

Desmond made his way into the bathroom, feeling better that he moved around quite a bit. On he way to the bathroom, a flash of light caught his eye. Glancing over, he saw the apple that they were able to retrieve. From what it looked like, the device was faintly…Glowing? Curious, Desmond turned his direction to the apple. The closer he got to the apple the more he felt he should be turning around and walking away. His interest in what it was doing kept him moving forward. The apply was glowing a pale golden light through the crevices. Stopping, Desmond looked over the apple, finding nothing other than the strange glow coming from the device, he leaned in closer. The more he stared, the more he stopped noticing things. Almost like time was stopping for him and funneling it to one place. The apple. In a moment of wandering thought, Desmond wondered if the apple had done this to Altair before. Attentively, he reached his hand out and touched the glowing apple.

As if the apple had been waiting for just that moment, a fresh burst of light came forth, nearly blinding Desmond. He tried removing his hand to cover his eyes completely, but it was like his hand was stuck to the apple. Pain shot through his arm as the light started pulsing. The pain went in tune with the light and rapidly spread through out his body. Within seconds, Desmond was on the ground still with the apple stuck to his hand. It felt like every fiber in his being was being slowly stripped away to oblivion. He did not know if he was screaming, nor did he care. The light got even brighter and the pain grow into agony. Desmond lost all coherent thought and thrashed about the floor. His foot somehow caught hold of Shaun's computer and shoved it to it's side. Sparks came from the newly trashed machine, igniting a few loose papers next to it.

The blaze grew quickly as if it was trying to battle the light coming from the apple. As for the light, it was surrounding Desmond in a consuming way. Soon there was nothing of Desmond to be seen but the light surrounding him. All of this only happened in a span of a few minutes. The blaze circled around the light like it was alive, ready to make it's attempt to destroy the light. The flames crackled and lunged at the light. Without a sound, the light faded, leaving nothing but the roaring fire and some scuff marks on the ground. The fire raged at losing it's enemy. It did the only thing it could do and just consumed the area that the light had been.


	2. Chapter 2

The word sore did not cover what Desmond felt as he was waking. It felt like someone had ripped each and every particle in his body slowly and meticulously. He was not sure if he wanted to know if they had put him back together right. The novice assassin could not move for a long time. At points, he was sure he was slipping in and out of consciousness. Gradually, he started feeling things other than pain. For instance, he realized it was very hot. It started at his feet and moved it's way up his body. Smoothly it went, like a paintbrush on canvas. As the heat swept in, the pain flowed away. Desmond had always hated heat as it would remind him of the farm. He wished he could have moved enough to laugh at the irony that he was now finding comfort in it.

Soon, Desmond felt his strength returning to him. He twitched his fingers attentively exploring the movement of his fingers. He was surprised when they did move for him and at what he felt beneath him. His fingers had dug into the ground beneath him with a particular sound. Like grains of sand. Curiously Desmond tried opening his eyes. What he found shocked what was left of the pain out of his system. It was sand that his fingers felt. In fact, as far as he could see was just sand, like he was in a desert. Desmond vaguely wondered if he was just seeing something from the bleeding effect.

But this was not like the other times. It felt… too real. Not like he was living it as someone else or even through. Gradually he lifted himself onto his unsteady feet as he surveyed his surroundings. Desmond did not fully know what the apple did, but one thing he was sure of was that he was not in Kansas anymore. Rolling dunes of sand and dirt as far as the eye could see. Heat shimmered the ground like the waves in the sea. Damn, it was hot. He dreaded the thought of walking through it.

Behind him just a mile away was a line of trees that looked like they can straight out of Eden. Just behind the trees he could see a faint line in the air like a cliff edge. Desmond wanted to think about his situation. To at the very least grasp what was happening and what he needed to do to correct it. First things first, he needed to get out of the heat. Experimentally, he moved his left food forward, worried that it would not stay steady for him enough to walk. Thankfully, it did. Unthankfully, it hit something hard making him fall forward on his face.

Desmond rolled over to his back, covering his eyes in the process. He had a feeling that he was not going to like his life for a good chunk of time. Not that he had been liking it for a while now. The novice really hoped that his feelings were wrong. Really, really hoped. He glanced down to his feet to see what he had tripped over. What he saw made him want to scream in frustration. Damn his feelings! Past his feet was the apple that had caused him to trip. What had made his heart drop was what he saw beyond the apple.

Templars.

The apple glinted in the blaring light as Desmond ran to the trees like a mad-man. At times he stumbled on the patches of sand that were starting to thin out the closer he got to the trees. His muscles screamed at him demanding him to give them a rest from the abuse he was putting them through. Physically, he wanted nothing more than to take a cool shower then curl up in his warm, safe bed and sleep for the next 48 hours. Mentally…Well, he still wanted the same thing but his built in instincts told him there would be death at any option but running. And they refused to just up and die.

So, Desmond kept running the mile he needed to get to the trees and to higher ground behind them. The yelling behind him just spurred him on faster. The templars were gaining on him and he did not like it. Just as he was nearing the first tree, the terrified assassin felt a "whosh" speed past his ear. The arrow that almost killed him hit the tree he just passed with a loud thud. Tossing himself like a football player hitting a touchdown with the apple as the ball, Desmond rolled past the main tree line. It looked really ridiculous to any normal person, to someone running for their life, well. That was a different story. A chorus of thuds could be heard at shoulder height of the trees if Desmond had kept running normally. Faintly, Desmond thought that the time living his ancestors' lives through the animus was just starting to come in handy with the new found instincts.

Thanks to those instincts, he did not dwell on it long. After the first main wave of the arrows hit the trees, he bounced off the ground and continued his panicked run still holding the apple. Letting his feet find the right spots to step, he dodged trees, branches and potholes that would lead him to his death if he let them. Desmond wished he was wearing at least the hidden blade. But no, he did not wear weapons when he was going into the animus. 'This is bull shit,' Desmond mentally swore, 'If I live through this, I'll try harder to become a better assassin. That cage farm be damned!'

Finally hitting the cliff wall, Desmond started running parallel, looking for a way up it. He may have been tired as hell, but he was a lot lighter than the men behind him. If he could just find a quick way up…There! Desmond shoved the apple down the waist band of his pants to free his hands. He grabbed hold of the small foot and hand holds that were protruding from the cliff wall. Using what strength was left in his body, he started hulling himself up.

Desmond could hear the templars yelling a lot clearer now that they were closer. "Kill the assassin!" He heard multiple times. If he had not been dangling himself from a very tall place, Desmond would have laughed at the unoriginality. He was about halfway up from the top before he glanced down. He wished he had not. Below him the templars had fully caught up to him. A few were trying to climb after him. The smarter ones were standing back and reloading their crossbows. 'Oh shit, oh shit.' Desmond repeated the words in his head as his new mantra.

Desperately Desmond wished he could climb faster as he felt the apple starting to slip down his pants and down his right leg. In his growing panic his leg hit the side of the cliff, letting the apple slip down faster. Damn it! He was so close to the top. Just above him the arrow burrowed itself into the rock right where his left hand had been reaching. It was a blessing in disguise as the apple made it past his knee. He grabbed the arrow tightly. Then with a feat of dexterity that Desmond did not realize he still had in him, twisted in the air, bringing his free hand to his right leg in time to catch the apple. Like a beacon, the sun glinted off the apple shinning down to the templars below.

"Hold fire!" Shouted a commanding voice below. From his position in the air, Desmond risked looking down for an other brief moment. Who he saw made his blood run cold, desert aside. Sticking the apple back to the waist band of his pants, Desmond restarted his upward battle. He would have time to think about what was going on after he gets to safety.

With pure bliss, Desmond's hands reached the top of the cliff he had been climbing. Using whatever was left of his upper body strength he hulled himself over the top, rolling over to his side to get away from the ledge quickly. Mentally, he slapped himself for the move. By rolling to the side, he did make himself a smaller target, but with the apple being in the waist band of his pants…It had been a pain filled move for his family jewels.

Cringing and with light tears in his eyes he picked himself back up to keep moving. The templars may have been at the bottom of the cliff now, soon they would find a way up. Thankfully, there was a few more trees to help keep the heat away. Before he turned to the trees he took the apple from his pants to hold normally. For a moment he wanted to chuck it over the cliff edge to help keep the templars off him, but he knew it would not work and that it would just be handing them a win. Though it might have just been his oxygen deprived brain trying to mess with him, Desmond felt a prick of curiosity. He knew what he was about to do is the worst thing he could do in any sort of situation, fictional or non-fictional, but he could not help it. He glanced back down the cliff into the den of templars.

The one that froze his blood and made him shiver was still sitting on his horse staring up at Desmond. Briefly, their eyes met and Desmond knew he just made a double mistake. Like a bat out of hell, the novice turned around and ran into the trees. At times there were clearings and others there were more cliff sides. By the time he started slowing the sun was on it's way down. He was exhausted and needed water, bad. To his left, flowing from a small ledge was a tiny waterfall. His eyes followed the water down until he spotted the small pond it had created over time.

His feet took him directly to the water with out his mind giving them any sort of demands. Not even bothering to use his hands, which were still sore from climbing the cliff, he stuck his head in the cool water and drank. After a few deep drags he came back up for some air. The almost assassin sat back on his heels and leaned back letting the small breeze that just started up to cool his face. He sat like that for a while, as he mentally mused over the situation. His body was done, of that he was sure. He had ran for two hours before whatever this was started, then there had been pain for who knew how long, then heat, then more running, climbing and more running…for hours. No water with only more heat. Fuck, he was tired. And still hot. That thought jerked Desmond out of his trance. He looked at the water in front of him. It was deep enough that he could pretty much take a bath in it. Using his hands this time, he dipped them into the water to clean them off. Dirt, sand and a little bit of blood ran off of them and went to the bottom of the pool. Once they were clean, he made a cup with them and drank a little more. The water ran down his still parched throat to start the process of going through his body. After he drank until he was sure he could drink no more he finally took the time to look around himself.

To his right, there was a small hut that looked tattered and almost broken down. It was built in such a way that it was meant to blend into the trees around it. In fact, if it had not been for the pale red cloth covering the opening, Desmond would not have noticed it. Other than the hut and the pond the only other things around were just trees. Knowing he would need to sleep that night, the novice got up and slowly made his way to the hut. Cautiously he looked inside. There was a small area for someone to sleep and an even smaller area for a fire with an even tinier basket off to the side. One thing was for sure, it looked like it had not been used in a long time. Slowly, Desmond walked back to the apple that the pond. Looking it over he had a moment of pure hate for it. Damn thing started all of this! He wanted to chuck it at the ground, but he knew that would just be self defeating.

Desmond went inside of the hut, tossing the apple to the bed side and bent to open the basket. The smell hit him first. Almost retching he quickly covered his mouth with his left sleeve and waved his right at the basket like it would make the smell go away. The basket must have been food storage at some point years ago. There was nothing but mold and god knows what. Nearly crying, Desmond forced the lid closed and picked the basket up one handed. He walked as quickly as he could out of the hut and away from the small clearing. He walked for about a minute, holding the basket as far away from him as possible, then he dropped the mold infested basket right next to a tree and headed back. The sun was starting to go down faster now.

The bartender new he needed to get the hut cleared up and a fire started soon. He was going to need the protection and warmth once night falls. As he was walking back, he gathered sticks and dry leaves that he placed in a pile next to the entry to the hut. He then looked over the sleeping area to make sure there was no mold or anything that could kill him if he slept there. Thankfully it looked usable and even more amazing, it looked as if there was an extra set of clothes. A pair of brown trousers, a grayish tunic and white half-robe with a hood. Almost want Altair would have been wearing. Shaking the thought from his head, he set to work on getting the fire going. It took him nearly ten minutes of rubbing the sticks together to get a spark. As he saw it come to life, he lifted some of the dead leaves next to it and blew lightly. The ember lit up and flamed onto the leaves. Quickly he set it in the fire pit and added a few sticks. The fire grew and gave light to the hut.

When he was sure the fire would not just go out nor spread to anywhere else in the hut, he left to make get some more firewood. Once he was satisfied with his small stock pile he went back into the hut. The sun had gone completely down while he had been making the fire. He was surprised with how cold it had gotten. Especially after how hot it had been. Taking comfort in the warmth of the fire, he settled into the corner of the hut that was meant as a bed. He fed the fire every once in a while and used the time to fully to think about the events that just happened.

For certain, he fully believed in his feeling earlier that day that he would going to hate his life. It was going to be rough and he did not much like the thought. His mind traveled back to the apple that was sitting next to him. Light from the fire glinted off the gold, highlighting the markings all around the ball. "Not much of an 'apple', is it?" Desmond asked the air. He did not feel pulled to it like he did earlier. He only felt that he would need it if he wanted to get back. He was going to have to use the spare clothes and travel quickly. He had no idea if the templars would still be looking for him. Scratch that, he was certain they were. They saw him with the apple.

Slowly, his mind started drifting away from him. He was content for now to let sleep take over him before he truly thought about how he was going to leave. He was going to need whatever rest he could now. Before he passed out completely, he had one last thought. 'That was Robert de Sablé. How the hell did I go back in time?'


	3. Chapter 3

Desmond woke with a start. For a moment he did not remember where he was. Then it can rushing back to him like a slap in the face. Thinking of face. Something was happening to his. He opened his eyes to see what looked like a big ass wolf sniffing at him. Check that, licking his face. It was light out letting Desmond know that it was morning or whatever, but the hide of the animal was blocking the light from coming through the small opening. The licking stopped when the animal noticed that he was staring. It took a step back into the doorway causing more light to bleed through to the inside of the hut. With the wolf, as he was now sure it was, out of his face he could see that it was staring back at him. Unsure of what it was trying to do and afraid that it might attack he kept still. The wolf tilted it's head for a moment then bolted outside of the hut. Desmond pushed to his feet seconds after while also picking up a half burnt stick from the now dead fire. He stayed crouched on his heels just in case the wolf came back.

Faintly he could hear the sound of the wolf running away. Thank goodness. Desmond wondered to himself what would have attracted the animal to begin with. He stood up slowly listening to the cracks in his joints as he did so. Shit all of that running did a number on him. He glanced down and realized what had caught the attention of the wolf. There were scattered spots of blood all over his hoodie from places he was scratched from passing branches or even a hand print of his near his heart that had come from his own hand. Mentally, the novice assassin slapped himself at his idiocy.

He paused in his mental musing to glance outside. There were no signs of anyone or anything else. Judging from the height of the sun, Desmond guessed that it was about 8:00 in the morning. Too damn early. But after the adrenaline push after the wolf, he doubted he could go back to sleep. That and he was hungry as hell. Loudly, his stomach decided to remind him again. He turned back into the hut with a hand over his belly. He picked up the extra cloths to put them on. At that point, the smell hit him. He smelled horrible. Taking the clothes with him, Desmond left the tiny shelter and went to the pond. Before he knelt down to the water, he glanced around again to make sure no one was there. He felt extremely exposed at the thought of bathing out in the open. None the less, there was no one else there. Signing, Desmond placed the clean clothes near the pond and stripped off his dirty and damaged clothes.

The ex-bartender slipped into the water with a gasp. He had not realized how warm it had gotten already even with the sun so low in the sky. Taking a deep breathe, Desmond went fully under the water and came back up, shaking the water out of his face. Now dirty water ran down his body, cleaning at least some of the dirt and dried blood off of him. He hissed as he started running his hands to rub on his skin to get more of the dirt off. Damn his hands hurt. Thankfully they did not look too bad. There were only a few spots where the skin was either cut open or rubbed raw on his hands and torso. Dipping his head in again, he scrubbed at his hair.

Feeling cleaner, Desmond pulled himself out of the water with a growl from his stomach again. Glancing at the pond again, he through twice about taking a drink to fill his belly. Maybe he should have done that first thing. He sighed again and went with the flow for now. He picked up the clothes that almost looked like what Altair would wear. The bad thing about the clothes was that they did not come with shoes. Hopefully, he would not run into anyone that would look down at his feet with his sneakers. After pulling the clothes on, Desmond went back to the hut. There he pulled apart the bed area that he slept in. He found that there had been a travel padding under the blanket. Using the blanket and padding to his advantage, he took the apple and rolled it up in the padding. With that, he placed the rolled up apple in the blanket in a way to make a rucksack. Pleased with his work, he threw it across his back and tied it upfront.

Walking back outside he noticed the heat had went up drastically. Thankfully the dirt had finally settled at the bottom of the pond and he was able to take a drink. The novice drank until he was certain again that he could drink no more. Who knew when he would be able to find water again. Sucked that he did not have a container he could use to take it with him. "Well, can't have all the luck, now can I?" Desmond asked the air.

With nothing else holding him at the run down hut, Desmond headed in the same direction he was going the day before. It lead him to the hut, right? Maybe it'll take him to a town…With food.

-H-O-O-D-I-E-N-I-N-J-A-

Days went by with very little change in scenery or events. At random times, Desmond would get lucky and find a tiny stream or puddle to get a drink from. He had no such luck for food or anything else for that matter. He was starving and was starting to run out of energy. He did not even have any run in with templars. He tried catching animals at random times and even set up traps at night. He did not even get one taker.

With the lack of company or much of anything else but walking, he was getting a lot of thinking done. He thought so much that he wanted even just the smallest of vacations from his own mind. The thinking made Desmond realize that he was definitely not a think. It actually made him miss the damn Brit. He never knew he would someday miss that annoying twit. 'Guh! Now I'm insulting him with his own countries insults! I swear when I get back I'll call him everything insulting in the American fashion!' That thought pulled Desmond through the next few days.

It was with pure joy that he spotted his first village. The closer he got to the village, the more his instincts were telling him it was a bad idea. With that, his joy quickly moved to frustration. Desmond wanted to scream at his instincts to just let him get some food! But, thankfully, being on the run from templars in his normal time and the past helped his mind think about his situation truthfully. One by one his mind ticked off the reasons why he shouldn't just waltz right into the village. One, he had no idea if he would be able to understand anyone. He realized he understood the templars, but they were probably yelling in English for all he knew. He had yet to met anyone else to test his theory about it. Two, he had no money, so he would have to steal the food he wanted so dearly. Three, he was tired, so his attempt at stealing the food may end up in him getting caught. Four, again, he was terribly tired and if someone tried to rob him, he would more than likely lose the apple. Five, if he lost the apple, he would be screwed. Six, he had screwed himself enough already by getting caught by Abstergo and shoved into the Animus. Seven, who knew if he was changing history by just breathing a thousand years in his past. What the hell would it do if he just ran around? Eight, he was a bad actor. Nine, everything would totally show through his expressions. He wasn't like half face Altair. Then, ten…Something was off. He could just tell.

Stopping his decent from the hill he was on, he stared at his surroundings and the village. People were milling about in what he could tell was the market. No one looked out of place or overtly suspicious. He even saw a few kids running around harassing a pig. He looked all around him for anything that may be out of the ordinary. He saw horses munching away at some hay nearby. He even went so far as to look up to make sure nothing was above him. It seemed as if he was concerned for nothing. He took a few more steps down the hill. Looking back into the village. Still he found nothing wrong.

Finishing his decent, Desmond took a deep breathe and pulled up his hood before fully going into the village. It was structured like Acre, but he knew it was not that city. The people walking about was primarily made up of farmers. Of women and children. He walked farther into the village with his heart beating like a baseball team's best batter was using it as target practice. Few glanced his way and when they did they had a look on their face like they wanted to wash their hands of him. He had been walking for days through trees, dirt and things he hoped were not what he thought they were. He must of smelled rancid. The bartender felt it was better to count it as a small blessing that he did not know and that his dirty appearance and tired frame made him look more of a beggar than a threat. One blessing he did not get was language. He could not understand a single word that was being thrown around him. 'Damn. It can send you back in time, but god forbid it translate anything for you.' Desmond bitched in his mind.

After roaming around for a few minutes without trouble he decided to finally give his stomach what it needed. The marketplace was filled with the smell of already cooked food and delicious meats and breads that were still being made. More than once his stomach growled loudly. Taking his time, because he knew if he rushed this it would end up bad for him(especially without being able to speak to anyone), he scouted the stalls for the easiest steal. He was able to narrow it down to a baker's stall and his timing was perfect. No guards were looking and the merchant was busy with another customer with his back turned. Sliding by, Desmond was able to swipe two bread rolls to hide under his shirt.

He did not look back as he made his way out of the market place to eat. Unconsciously, his speed picked up slightly in his eagerness to finally eat something. Without a problem he found a secluded area where he was able to sit down and eat a little. God he was starving! Within a minute, half of the bread roll was gone. At that point he had to pause for breath and to let the food actually go down. Thankfully, the pain in his belly eased as the bread hit it. This let him pause longer after bites of the bread to actually chew the food. Once one of the rolls of bread was gone, Desmond knew he would definitely need to save the other one. Making sure he was alone again, he took off his makeshift rucksack and wrapped the bread in with the apple.

He stood up and stretched. His muscles twitched a little and his joints popped. The bartender did not realize how long it had been since he last stretched. Finally no longer hungry, Desmond was able to focus a little more on his surroundings. It looked like he was in a three walled back yard. Securing the rucksack back in place, he looked out of his hidey hole. The feeling he had before coming into the village was still there. In fact, it felt to Desmond that it was more acute than it was before. He did not like it at all. Then his eyes found what he knew was off.

The guards.

They were not there. Desmond could have sworn that he had seen a few walking around the town. He took a moment to think about it. Yes, yes there had definitely been guards before he stole the bread. The more he thought back, the more he realized how much of an idiot he was. There had been guards. Now he saw none. Meaning one of three things. A: They were having some sort of a meeting at a fantastically odd time. B: They were on to him and were hiding in ambush. Or… C: They had been picked off. Stealthily. By someone who obviously knew what they were doing.

'Fuck.'


	4. Chapter 4

Desmond's mind was running through all of his options. Well, he truly only had one. And that was to get the hell out of village before he was noticed. If he had not already been. It had been obvious from the get go, of whatever you want to call this glitch in time, that templars were not friendly(or very bright). Even though they had yelled assassin when they first saw him, he knew he barely looked like an assassin. Key word there is the barely. Desmond figured they yelled it out of reflex or habit. Probably both.

Slightly pained by it, Desmond admitted to himself that he is a novice in the plainest since. He had the basics down. The running, the climbing. And even a little bit of the stealth. But whatever he thought, his face showed it. He may have watched Altair perform perfect assassinations among many other things, but Desmond did not do them himself. It was one thing to know how to do something and an other completely to implement it, without thinking about it. He did not want to find out how much exactly he did not know. Briefly, his mind fluttered on the fact that it may have been the cloths that alerted the Templars.

He took a deep breath as he again looked out of the three walled garden he was in. No sign of who ever was there taking out the guards. As calmly as he could, Desmond walked out of the garden. He made his way back to the marketplace at a smooth walking speed. His eyes flicked to the roofs around him as he walked. Still no sign of anyone. He would have loved to say that it made him feel better. Then he would be lying to himself.

The bartender made it to the crowded market place with no fowl. Hoping and praying that he was not being followed nor spotted, he continued on through to get to the other side of the village. How the village had been set up was with the marketplace directly in the middle, going all of the way through. It looked like an odd set up to him, but what could he say about it? Older times and it was a small village compared to places like Acre or even Masyaf.

Pausing for a moment he pretended to be interested in some necklaces that a merchant was selling. His brain was telling him that he needed to continue on, but his instincts were telling him to blend in more. The merchant, whom was speaking to a customer, gave him an apprehensive glance. Desmond lingered for a minute longer, all the while he was almost discretely looking around him. To any untrained eye, he was focused on the necklace in front of him. But to a trained one, he stuck out like a sore thumb. That much was obvious. The novice did not see the shadow that watched him from just across from the market. Chocolate brown eyes stared at him as they noted his tense stance and how he would turn his head ever so slightly to the left and right to watch around him.

Unknowing about the being watching him, Desmond turned from the jewelry merchant to continue on his way…Directly into a man who just stepped up to the jewelry stand. The bartender stumbled back one step as did the now very angry man. Immediately, the Arab started yelling at Desmond, getting directly in his face to do so. More than likely saying how much of an idiot he was with very vicious words. Unfortunately for the native and the novice, the latter only understood English. Whom of which was already cursing the apple in his mind in his own colorful words, again; mostly for being useless unless you wanted to travel thousands of years into the pass. Damn apple.

Desmond put his hands up in the universal sign of "Don't look at me, I got nothing in my hands". The angry native did not get out of Desmond's personal bubble even when he took a few more steps back. Still nervous about being noticed by anyone but normal citizens, the bartender decided to just high tail it away from the yelling psycho as fast as possible. Not to mention all they yelling over a little run in was starting to irritate him. He using his already up hands, the bartender(at heart) pushed the man back out of the invisible circumference around himself. He used the momentary surprise that showed on the native's face to get around him and blended into the crowd once more. Thankfully, the market was already loud as hell, so the man's yells did not bring too much attention.

With out any farther incidents, he made it out of the last quarter of the village.

-H-O-O-D-I-E-N-I-N-J-A-

The eyes had noticed the figure when he had first entered the village. But at the time, they paid no attention to him because of the job that needed completed. They were curious about him, as the person did not seem to blend in too well. What with the overtly plain cloths that were just a bit too much like an assassin's. With the job done, the owner of the brown eyes decided to watch the stranger for a little longer. Especially since it seemed like they were running from some thing…Or someone. The way they moved also seemed very familiar. It was particular and only increased his curiosity.

The master assassin's eyebrows furrowed slightly when the maybe assassin walked right into a citizen. It was an accident that anyone would, or should, be used to living in any city or town. Strangely, the citizen seemed to blow it out of proportion. He yelled obscenities to the stranger and got in his face about it. Something about it did not seem quite right. As the event played out in front of him, the assassin took the time to examine the yelling man better. At just a glance, anyone would say he was just a citizen. Looking closer, there were tiny but tale-tell signs that he was more than that. His skin was lighter than a normal native citizen, although it was still very tanned. Like the skin from one of the pale templars that had been in the sun for a while. He was dressed like any other normal person, but the key difference was that there was no dirt on his cloths. That, frankly, was highly impossible for commoners. More than any of that, what made him understand what he was seeing was the accent, slight as it was, that he could hear. That was an English accent.

With his keen sight, he caught the smirk that played on the Englishman's lips as he watched the possible assassin's back. With narrowed slits for eyes, he stood from where he was sitting to blend back into the crowd. He followed after the stranger while keeping an eye on the templar. The templar walked after the man he was just yelling at while raising his hand to the air. He made a grabbing motion twice before bringing it back down. Intrigued even more and a bit alarmed, the assassin continued after them. All the while his brain was processing the information at lightning speed. The Templars were after that stranger. And it seemed like the stranger knew it. Why?

He made up his mind to help the stranger if only to thwart the Templars. But there would be a price for his assistance. Answers.


	5. Chapter 5

Why did so much bad stuff happen to him? First being one of the more useless kids at the farm, no matter how hard he tried. Then all of the idiots who would come into whatever bar he was working at during pretty much only his shift. Abstergo was next, and really, they were the worst. Even being with the machine oiled three, Desmond still felt like he was a forth wheel. But they all had another thing in common. Every one of them thought they would be able to just walk right over him. Sadly, Desmond believed they could, too. That they already had. Hell, he was even taken to class by a damn golden apple that threw him back in time. How that one worked out, he could only hope to figure out. And soon.

It was all just much too much. He was only one person; not even worth all of the trouble fate or destiny(whatever the hell it was) was going through to mess with him. His IQ was average. His physical ability was average. Almost everything about him was average. His instincts were the only thing slightly above average, yet they still failed him again and again. 'Or more, I fail them,' He thought bitingly. After all, they did always tell him when something was wrong, no matter how faintly. He either did not take the time to notice or he ignored it. And now, when he did listen to them to get out of the village, he still fucked it up.

The bartender could not help but be a little bitter about it. After all, why else would he have left the village to avoid an assassin only to run into a group of waiting Templars? It just was not right. And to top it off, he still managed to run into the assassin. Possibly the worst one he could.

No, nope. Definitely the worst one.

Desmond had paused in shock the moment he spotted them. Already the Templars were moving to surround him, some with their swords drawn, like they had known he was just leaving the village. He at least attempted to go back the way he came after his initial shock. Not that it did him much good. From where he had came out of the crowd of people stood was the native, maybe not so native after all, that yelled at him next to the jewelry stand. Well, that explained one bit.

"God. Fucking. Damn. It!" Desmond exclaimed.

-H-O-O-D-I-E-N-I-N-J-A-

Altair trailed after the Englishman like the master assassin he was. He spotted the stranger being surrounded by Templars already just barely out of the town. For a moment their eyes met and the assassin had the feeling that the stranger knew who he was. Oh, he was going to get answers for this.

Around him, citizens were noticing the Templars and brewing fight. The smart ones were already making their way back to their residences. Altair slipped through the dwindling crowd towards the commanding Templar. By now the stranger was completely encircled by their enemy with, possibly, no weapons and no way out. His current target had his hand on his sword, so very sure of himself and his men. The arrogance was disgusting.

Time to get to work.

-H-O-O-D-I-E-N-I-N-J-A-

All hell broke loose within seconds of Desmond meeting the hazel eyes of Altair. Said master assassin had been creeping up behind the commander and silently ran him through with his hidden blade. While that was happening, one of the Templars behind Desmond made a grab for him. As soon as he felt the grip on his left upper arm the novice twisted to punch the Templar in the face. He was only slightly surprised when his attack hit. The man stumbled back while holding onto his face and with a glare in Desmond's direction. The sound of metal against metal pulled his attention back toward Altair. The assassin was cleanly going through Templar after Templar as they began to realize that their commander was laying dead on the ground. More swords were being drawn and Desmond felt he needed to slip away, now.

Another man lunged for Desmond only this time to maim and kill. Yay. It was a dead or alive sort of thing. Self preservation was again the forefront of his mind as he dropped to the ground to avoid being cleaved in half. Almost in the same motion he swept his right leg under the Templar that had attacked him. The man went down and the bartender scrambled to get through the mass of bodies. Screaming and yelled filled the air as the fight continued on between the mortal enemies around them. He was unsure of which side was winning. There was only one assassin and plenty of Templars. However, it was the best assassin that there ever was. Hmmm, sounds like a coin flip filled with skill and death. Why the hell was he thinking about that at a time like this?

Scoffing, Desmond focused on running away. He dodged and kicked his way around weapons, grabs and people dead on the ground. At multiple points he dodged poorly and ended up with a six inch slice across his left shoulder along with various slices, scrapes and bruises. Thankfully none were too deep so he was able to ignore them for the moment. If barely. After just a minute or so after the fray started he found an end to the Templars. Really, there was only about sixteen of them to begin with, now down to eight thanks to Altair, but they were everywhere. Somehow he was able to keep a hold onto his makeshift pack with his precious cargo. He slipped through the enemy lines in the direction he was originally trying to go from the beginning.

He barely took a moment to look behind him at the crowd. Altair was still fighting a few of the templars at once while two noticed that Desmond was almost away. One of them yelled something that the bartender was unable to completely hear do to the blood roaring in his ears, but he got the gist of it. From there he saw a few more heads turn his way and he bolted. He was breathing heavy from pain and exertion, but he kept on just like before. He was getting really tired of running.

Blissfully, he was coming upon a group of tethered horses. Desmond glanced behind him to see how far ahead he was. Three were right on his trail. 'Crap, crap,' Desmond thought. He was glad that having their swords out was making them run a little bit slower than they normally would have. Even so, it did not give him much time to try and grab a horse. Thinking back, he wished he had thought to nab a sword, dagger, whatever sharp pointy one of those bastards had. Then again, it would have slowed him down more then them. Hell, he probably would have tripped and skewered himself within thirty seconds of running with one. It was worse then running with scissors.

Fuck it. He would try instinct. He should listen to them, right?

The bartender made it to the horses, whom were already spooking from the slightly distant sounds of battle. The white horse with black patches like a cow that he ran up to snorted and side-stepped away from him. Due to the rope tying her to the pole she didn't get far. Thinking quick, Desmond let her see his hand before he moved to pet at her neck in a calming motion. Back at the farm, they had a few horses that he had really liked to tend to. They were amazing creatures and responded best to body language. Unconsciously, he smile at the mare despite being nearly breathless from running and the Templars following him. He relaxed his stance in an extra effort to get her to see that he was not a danger. Seconds rolled by as he stared into her eyes and continued the movement of his hand along her neck.

The petting worked to calm the animal down enough to get her to hold still. Desmond took a glance behind them to check his pursuers. He was surprised to see that two were down on the ground, one unmoving and the other painfully trying to get the knife out of his back. It had taken precious moments to get the horse, Bessy, in honor of her cow coloring, soothed. The men had been just behind him when he had last looked. Altair must have been the one to throw the knives in their backs. Why he was helping, Desmond shuttered to think. Still, two men down. Where the hell was the third?

At that thought, the hair on the back of his neck raised just before he was grabbed from behind. 'Shit,' was Desmond's immediate thought. The next second he felt a dagger pressed to his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, Altair's eyes are Hazel. I'll fix it in the earlier chapter later. I don't feel like it now. Also, may be massive renovating the beginning chapters. I think I figured out a better way to play this out. And I apologize if it is too obvious that the style changed after the first bit. I literally wrote the first 4 paragraphs Christmas of 2012 and stopped. That being said, I hope you guys didn't need a glass of water with this chapter because to me, it was really dry. Also, I don't own horses. I did a little research but not a lot so...yeah. FYI, I'll try to make all updates over 1K words. That's my bare minimum. Otherwise, I'm aiming for at least 2k(about a page on my word program. I have the font size at 6, so that makes for a lot of words per page.). Have no idea how many chapters exactly it'll be because of my sporadicalness. At this rate, 30 chapters? Or more. Sorry for the long An.


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